To Claim the Shadows
by Flame Falcon
Summary: After a disastrous crusade, the Knights of Corax are severly undermanned. At a clandestine recruitment, one Aspirant Nero is taken to be welcomed into the folds of the Knighthood. But he soon is faced with many challanges that question who he is, and what is he destined to achive in the Chapter, and in the Imperium.
1. Chapter 1

**Warhammer 40,000 belongs to Games Workshop. I own nothing.**

* * *

In the darkness all men are equal, save those that embrace it. Shadow Captain Kayvaan Shrike of the Raven Guard said that. Darkness also takes its own toll one each; even those who embrace it, Shrike did not say that. While the Raven Guard and many, if not all of their successor chapters embraced the shadows to bring death and woe to their enemies, each one took their own different perception to the darkness, both all around them and in their own souls. While their successors chapters are few and far in between, the Raven Guard has sired some fine Chapters to embrace the Emperor's light from the shadows.

While many are known to the Imperium, one is known, only to the Chapters that share their gene seed and a selected few others. Even the High Lords of Terra only know the briefest of details about the Knights of Corax. Founded during the Thirteenth, the so called 'Dark', Founding. Only two other chapters claim their Founding with them, one of them is the Death Specters, another son of the Primarch Corax. They have served the Imperium and the Emperor for many centuries of grand service. Holding at bay many of the horrors of the dark galaxy that it could throw at humanity, they were warriors with few equals. For many years, their shadow was cast over the many foes and only death was left in their wake.

The Knights of Corax were created to 'breed out' some of the flaws of the mutated Raven Guard gene-seed. While the instability caused by their Primarch is still with in their holy glands, they have a much greater stability then most others. Their deathly-white skin is one of the flaw still in their blood that is visible to others. They sail the darkness of Imperial space in their massive battle fleet, claiming recruitment from many on top of many worlds. From the brutal gangers of the under hive scum to the fierce feral tribals from the jungles of Purgatorial, to the harsh winter wastelands of Vigilance on the massive planet of Alexandria, all are taken to their ships to be Knights.

Now, however; every recruit will be a priceless asset. A disastrous Crusade enticed by false Saints against the laying forces of the World Eaters, the Knights of Corax has suffered near genocide against them, almost thrice decimating them. The reacting force, consisting of the Seventh, Fifth, and Third Battle Companies are reduced to almost a third of their ranks. Their captains now gather to see discuss their future and if their ranks could continue to survive for the decades to come.

* * *

The eerie silence of the Command room on the Battle Barge, Shadow's Tune, would have driven other mortal men to fearful states. It was perfect for any scion of Corax. The door hissed open and three Astartes dressed in pitch black as their primary color with unpainted ceramite as the secondary color. The first one carried a large power halberd, in which he used it as support from time to time when he was unarmored. He is Captain Maxamillian of the Third Company, a veteran of a hundred campaigns and a forehead riveted with seven service studs, signifying seven hundred years of service to the God Emperor. Under his armor, there are braces made of brass and steel, keeping him stable and mobile when he has reached the age only a Space Marine's blessing can. He takes a seat and unclasps his Mark VI helmet from his armor, breathing in the recycled air. The Captain of the Fifth Company, Ares Lunia, is perhaps the most sour and dour of all the sons of Corax. While by any means are the sons of Corax a chipper lot, Ares even causes his other brothers to be generally concerned with his over all well being. Brandishing a heavy bolter, he is one of the few that prefer long range combat over close quarters. The final Seventh Company, Plato claimed the captaincy seat. The youngest and perhaps the most brash of commanders, Plato still has yet to earn a service stud.

"We are all here, so let it begin" Plato began while he took a seat, Maxamillian did the same. Ares remained standing, his heavy bolter magnetized to his chest plate. "As we are all aware, the Skyplain Crusade was a blight on our history. We walked blindly into a well prepared trap of Chaos. Though we claimed victory, we are drastically undermanned. Almost two hundred brothers lay dead on the fields of battle. While we were able to recover the gene seed, armor and weapons, a fallen brother is still a fallen brother. Our Librarians are only two in number and the chaplaincy is down to Chaplain Nile. While we stand victorious, we are in need of new brothers to fill the gaps."

Maxamillian nodded his helmetless head in agreement. "But we are faced with one problem; planets to recruit from. There are few worlds from where we can recruit from. Not to say that they lack the people, it is rather the kind of young boys we need. The nearest world is a shrine world, and I doubt the Adeptus Ministorum would grant us some of their warrior-adepts. We do have one other option; though risking it might place the future of our chapter at risk of losing the population needed."

Ares crossed his arms. "You refer to the wastelands of Alexandria. The Age of Fate came twelve years ago when we took fifty surviving youth to our ranks, where only twelve of them made it to the ranks of battle-brothers." While his mood was a sour as blood citrus leaves, Ares had near perfect memory. Able to draw off of campaigns come and gone, he can retell each recruitment since his ascension into the Knighthood. "They are ripe fro recruits, but if we take too many, we are endangering our chapter's future as a whole. This must be done as we strike; with shadows and clandestine. The others must not catch wind of this, otherwise confrontation will surely follow."

"It is a slippery slope, but we must take the chance if our chapter is to see a future." A voice from the shadows said. Stepping forward, Scout-Sergeant Davian Thaddeus revealed himself in the dim light. His pale, yet fair then his other Brother's, skin glowed slightly while his show white hair spoke of his wisdom. Forever to remain a scout, Davian is perhaps the harshest cursed by the instability of the holy gene-seed. He bears no Black Carapace, thus he was judged to teach those who might be able to wear it. On his exposed left palm bears the I of the Inquisition, one of his parting gifts from the Deathwatch.

"Scout-Sergeant Davian, how pleasant of you to eavesdrop on a meeting only allowed for the captains." Ares voice was now soaked with snarky and sarcasm. Maxamillian ignored his and gestured for Davian to sit, who did as he was asked to. No one spoke for some time, each awaited for some one else to break the icy silence. Davian and Plato thought of the new recruits and what they could bring to the Chapter. Ares only thought of the next campaign against the enemies of man, wishing to avenge the fallen and reclaim some lost honor. Maxamillian whispered murmured words to himself, which only he would understand.

After a while, Plato spoke. "I make a motion that we make our fleet move to Alexandria. We will take only the heartiest of those youth, a selected few that will rise to our ranks." Maxamilain nodded his head in agreement and Ares only grunted. Davian rose from the table and headed off to the bridge. The Battle Barge was very large, almost five kilometers in length. Thankfully, his enhanced physiology made the task a light one.

The bridge was large, many serfs and servitors worked away, consisted of mainly the failed aspirants whose bodies refused the gene-seed out right. Davain wondered what it felt like, to work so hard and came so close to the prize your body worked for only to have the body you were given reject it. If the feeling of losing his Black Carapace was hard, what was their pain like?

Davian shook it from his head as he approached the head Navigator. Sitting upon the navigation throne, the abhuman turned his bulging head and blinked all of it's three eyes. "Ahh, Davian Thaddeus. The warp tides are merciful towards us. The Emperor has cleared a way for us. Where have the captains spoke for their destination?" Davian spoke the planet and the Navigator nodded. Communicating with the other members of the fleet, they lurched forward and the Warp Shields activated on their ships. The metal plates slid down on the windows and soon the Warp Jump activated. The sudden movement set Davian off balance and almost stumbled down and land flat on his face. He heard the Navigator chuckle at his clumsiness, but Davian ignored it.

He walked out of the bridge of the Battle Barge and proceeded down to the firing range. It was to be less then a day's Warp Travel, and he had scheduled a training session for the Scouts. When he got there, he saw all six Scouts under his command there and waiting for him. On the table laid his bolter, the .998 Godwyn pattern. He barely wasted a moment upon entering the room when he began to teach the Scouts how to field strip their weapons. They responded in and almost eager fashion. They were to make fine Brothers indeed.

* * *

The lessons finished, the Scouts left for their evening prayers. Davian let them go, he had his own plans. Word was that they were almost too the planet was. He made his way back to the bridge, it was always an awe inspiring sight to see the planet, though he had seen it almost six times already. It was now to be his seventh. Up countless stairs, even more countless turns through corridors, it boggled Davian's mind what it was like to build such a marvel. Thousand Tech-Priests and even more labors must have slaved over this for decades, building it for the Aduptus Astarte.

He reached the bridge and saw Captain Maxamillian awaiting him. Turning his beaked helmeted head towards the Scout Sergeant, he merely nodded in recognition. The two stood in silence and watched as the metal plates that protected the sight of mortals from the warp slowly retracted. When it opened, Davian and Maxamillian involuntarily let out a gasp for air. Alexandria, a planet a beautiful as the name.

The planet was large; very large. It was almost the size of the gas giant Jupiter in the Solar System. Massive continents blanketed the surface of the planet next to dark blue oceans. There were four continents and a large island cluster that speckled the west ocean, Oceans of Malcontent, the LostIslands. Being such a large planet, four other Astarte Chapters claim recruitment from this planet. The Pact of Alexandria was a massive achievement and they are constantly fighting alongside each other.

There was a massive desert continent known as Tahalla, where the Blood of Dorn claimed their recruits. He had fought alongside them before, and while they were honorable Marines, they underestimated the element of surprise. Reach, the bustling city-continent, the Warlords, or more aptly named, the Mechanicus lapdogs, took their chapter's future there. The Sons of the Blade, true devout warriors to the Emperor took the Lost Isle as their own, relying off of the fierce killing instinct and survival skills of the tribal's of the Isles to breath life into their chapter. The central most continent and capital of the world, The Guardians of the Aquila take their recruits and turn them into legendary fighters.

But Davian smiled as his gaze rose to the top of the world, the northern continent of Vanguard. Their home continent, their place for recruitment. Davian tugged on his cape and turned to the hangers, Maxamillian right behind him. Soon they left to the world on board a Thunderhawk, three other battle brothers and Librarian Seth traveled down to the world. The gravitational pull was similar to that of Holy Terra, known to antiquity as Earth.

Down there were recruits awaiting their ascension, and it was to be their task of guaranteeing that their new potent warriors were recognized and welcomed into the folds of the Knights of Corax.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the snow blasted landscape, Nero sat patiently, his furred coat and wraps keeping the cursed cold from reaching his skin. He laid his spear across his lap and watched as his prey. A massive Glacier Mammoth walked, no more then three hundred feet ahead of him. He had been tracking this monster of a beast for two days on end, inching slowly towards it. It must have weighed enough to feed his clan for the winter night-days, but each time he got close, the wind changed and brought his scent to the beast's trunk and it scurried away. This time, the beast was trapped against the ice canyons. "No more running beast, now you die." He whispered under his breath.

He slid on his stomach, his wolf fanged spear ahead of him. He placed a bit of snow in his mouth so that his breath wasn't to be visible. Inch by inch, he crawled forward to his prey. He remembered the lesson his father gave the youth as they were dispatched ten of the clan's best youth for a special trial. He refused to say what it was, only that the winner who slew a beast worthy of song would be rewarded with a fate so grand that the chieftain would bow his head in respect towards them. The youth ran eagerly to find a beast that would bring them glory. Nero was far calmer and spent the past two days slowly tracking this Mammoth. Now was his time to strike.

He was now within a hundred feet of it and he ran the scenarios through his head. The Glacier Mammoth had three tusks on each side of its mouth, and each one of them was stronger then solid bed rock. The skin was thick, as was the fur; he needed to make sure his spear punctured the mammoth where it was a guaranteed kill. The ribs were closely spaced, so to rupture a lung was not a guarantee. He then thought to the spine, severing it would cripple it, but that would cause him to only have the massive animal thrash around, potentially sending him off the cliff. He then spied the weak spot, the eyes socket. If he could drive his spear through the eye and spin the point around in the brainpan, he could kill this beast. Granted, it would thrash around, but he came prepared for that.

Silently, he leapt up on top of the monster and gripped on hard to the fur. The wail of surprise almost deafened him, but he held on and crawled forward. The mammoth tried to roll and crush him, but Nero kept himself from meeting that fate. This is what he was born to do, and he was not going to allow a beast to take all that from him.

He was now on the head on the beast. He gripped the massive spear in his hands. In one smooth motion, his muscles and body sang as one as he plunged the spear through the left eye socket of the monster. The spear was uniquely crafted, the three feet of spear was filed down to the thickness of the spear tip. This allowed the spear to glide in much more gracefully then it would have as any other spear. The mammoth squealed deafening that the ice itself responded. Nero threw himself down forcing the spear through the other eye. The mammoth slammed down on it's side, dead, and a mere three inches from where Nero landed. Nero rose triumphantly and bellowed a wordless scream towards the heavens. He looked down at his kill and pulled his flint knife from the fish skinned belt on his waist and began to sear proof of his kill.

He then heard something approaching him from behind him. Pulling the spear out of the eye socket of the monster and spun around screaming, only to have the spear cut off from his hands by a massive blade that was almost as tall as he. He looked at his attacker and gaped in awe. A warrior, three heads taller then he at the very least. A black helmet with baleful red eyes pierced his very soul, and he forced down on his knees out of instinct. The Storm Warriors had come for him.

He had heard them in whispers from the shamans of the tribes, speaking them as the greatest warriors of the Storm Father, known to other travelers as the Emperor. They descended on the enemies of man on wings of fire, blades made of the heart of stars, and strength that would rival the mountains. The Storm Warrior gestured for Nero to rise. "Young warrior, you have tried and passed our Trial of Hunting the Hunter. You now have a choice ahead of you, one that you and only you alone can choose. You may refuse this honor, return with your kill to the tribe. There you will live a life of hardship and relative peace. Or you may follow me, and all I can promise you is pain and war. But you will be given a chance to be something greater then everything you have ever known. Stand up and turn back to your kill if you wish to refuse."

* * *

He asks me to stand, to walk away from this chance. I stay exactly where I am, not flinching against his baleful gaze. The Storm Warrior narrows his gaze and moved towards the shattered remnants of my spear. He picks up the tooth of a tip and passes it to me. I take it and he begins to walk away.

And I can only follow him. I know not where I am going, but I only know that it will be greater then what I have down here. We trudge through drifts of snow and ice, I follow right behind him, stepping where he has stepped and we walked across the bleak wasteland, where I then see a massive black spot out at the bottom of a ravine. We speak no words as we descend, the bitter cold bites at my exposed skins and my wet furs help little to shield my skin.

When we reach the bottom, I gaze upon a massive construct of the Warriors, it is steel and other metals with a dark black tone to it. The belly opens up with a whine and a gust of warm air hits my exposed skin. I gaze up the ramp, unsure as if it was to lead me towards. The Storm Warrior merely walks up the ramp, his sight not turning back once. I suppose this is where I was given one last chance to refuse the honor laid at my feet. My head debated what I should do. While my family was to be left behind without me, would they know about me, would I see them again? The one who found me cleared his throat and the ramp was about to rise up. I shake my head free of doubt and constraints. I head up the ramp.

The inside of the mechanical beast is impressive, it is large but spacious. I see several other tribesmen, like myself but not from my own clan. I scowl with disgust as I notice a Blizzardskull, one of my own clan's sworn enemies. I am about to unsheath my stone knife to spill the cowards blood before a massive hand almost shatters my arm in a titanic grip. I look to who it was and my gaze fell upon a deathly pale face with seven rivets of glowing metal in his head staring down at me. "If you know what is best for you, you will sheath that knife before I use it for something else."

I hiss under my breath, "It is a Blizzardskull, a coward and-" He cuts me off with a cold glare that would freeze liquid fire over. He shoves me into one of the seats and locks me in. We soon leave the ground and my heart rate picks up, slightly taken by surprise by the leaving of solid ground. I slowly place my knife back in the sheath and cast a death glare to the Blizzardskull, who only glares back at me, grinning like a devil. All I am thinking as we blast upwards is my knife spilling his blood

* * *

Scout Sergeant Davian overlooked the massive amounts of recruits. Well over two hundred, he saw that many of them wouldn't survive the process of becoming an Astarte, even if their gene-seed was stable. Weather they would be dead in the body or in the head, they would still serve the Chapter as a servitor of one form or another. He shuttered as he thought about it, and then his gaze fell upon the Techmarine who would carry it out. Galen, the preserver of the flesh, was a sarcastic title at best, an insult at worst. Galen had been in service to the Tech-adepts of Mars for well over three hundred years. He never wasted the flesh of the fallen, often making an abundance of skull-servos when given the chance on the fallen aspirants. Others who snapped and went brain dead were transformed into the menial servitors that were only thing beneath the human bondsman they had. Placing that fact aside, he was an exemplar of a Techmarine, but the eerie fact of no fewer then three skulls floating around he did damage his image.

Captain Maxamillian stepped off the Thunderhawk with the last of the potential brothers. He approached the Scout and nodded his head. "I found these many that will be fine initiates. However, we still need to cull off several of them, there is no means that we can handle so many. Rivalry is still fresh in their veins." He grimaced as he remembered the encounter he stopped on his final flight on board the thunderhawk. "Do we have any other trials we can administer to separate the weak from the strong?" There were some of the trials that could be done. The Blood trial was one that came to mind. A duel between two aspirants, it could work but they didn't have many of the weapons required, and though they brought their own weapons with them, not all of them would be placed at an equal.

Davian spoke up, "The Challenge trial seems particularly adapt for this. We have brought in several tribes from a barren ice land, this is their first time on board a space faring ship. Perhaps we can have them hid on board and have them stalk down their target, to kill or maim. This would exemplify our basic tenants of stealth, and discipline."

The Librarian, with the formal title of Epistolary Seth, stepped forward. "I think I many know how we can achieve such a feat. My powers over the Warp can achieve many things, from bolts of lightning to an all consuming fire, my talents also lay in altering the minds of my enemy. I believe I could use it to summon the worst fears of an Aspirant and have a face of another being the one responsible for that. It is a massive blast of energy though, those weak in mind will surely die, but those who have powerful willpower will remain resistant against me." His voice was almost monotone, but the message got clear enough for everyone to understand. Maximilain nodded and Seth closed his eyes while tightening his grip on his force staff. Powerful as he was, Seth had to use his power to cover the sheer amount of aspirants at a far more diluted strength then his true powers of fear.

The effect; however, was far more immediate and devastating. The shrill shriek of almost three hundred aspirants filled the cargo hold. Astartes tuned their helmet's receiver down so the sound was a dull roar. The aspirants took to the wind, scattering like fresh, dry snowflakes tossed into the blowing wind. Many aspirants trampled over others, their dead, or those who were on the floor by whatever means. Soon there were few left alive in the cargo hold, many others lay dead, either in brain or body. Those left alive were rounded up by Seth while Galen gathered the fallen. The chapter could always use more servitors. "How long until the effects wear off?" Davian spoke up from his perch.

"It can last until their target is dead or one of us stops them before the act is finished. The bondsman and other brothers of our chapter will be safe from their wrath. If they are attacked, lethal force has been authorized." Seth said as he gathered up those who were resistant to his mind tricks. He could easily sense psychic potential in them, if they could pass the rigid and trying trials of the Librarium, they would make fine Librarians indeed.

* * *

Nero hid amongst a tarp his heart pounding like the fierce windstorms. He was unsure if what he witnessed was true or not, but regardless, is shook him to the bone. He saw his village aflame, even from kilometers away, he could see the fires and smelled the burning flesh. When he reached their he had saw his etire clan placed to the axe and spear. A grisly totem was impaled on his chieftains head, the totem of the Blizzardskulls.

He doubled his fists in rage; they had attacked his lands for too many times. He had a clear vision of the one whom was the leader of this attack party. He had a clear image in his head and he pulled out his flint knife. The jagged edge was sharp and ready to spill blood. That Blizzardskull had made the worst mistake of his very short life.


	3. Chapter 3

Davian slowly walked down the halls of the ship, listening. A normal man wouldn't have heard it, but with his enhanced senses picked up the sounds of the battles wedged all around the ship. He listened and was never surprised as the men, boys he corrected himself, butchered each other. He walked over a fallen body of an aspirant; his windpipe crunched by a foot and spied the one that was impaled on the spear of flint. He looked on the boy dead, and it was all too obvious that he wasn't going to survive the test. It was a dark deed, but then again, they were the Knights of Corax. What they did was dark, but it was for the survival of the human race.

He then gazed upon a monster of boy hacking away at a much smaller boy who was armed with a metal knife. The smaller boy rolled out of the swing of the axe and thrusted the steel through the kidney of the larger boy and twisted his knife. The larger one screamed in agony and turned into a whirlwind of steel. He managed to get a few gashes on the smaller one, but the knife had already done its damage. The large pool of crimson life force spilled out of the wound and the taller boy was finished. The smaller lad slashed the throat, and soon the monster toppled over.

Disappearing into the shadows, Davian nodded his head grimly. He would make a fine initiate if he should survive. Davian could smell the irony-copper aroma of blood all around him, the trials would be over shortly, over one hundred bodies found meant that they should be ending soon.

* * *

Nero breathed in and out with adreniline, at his feet laid the shattered corpse of one of those who tried to get in his way. His hands were slick in the deep red hue of blood. He had lost track of time, all he could focus on was slaughtering that Blizzardskull. He took his fallen foe's combat knife, which was made of a metal, a rarity to many tribes, save those who lived at Vulkan's Mouth. He stepped back into the shadows and hugged against the steel plates. He could hear labored breathing that wasn't his own, and he peered around the corner. He growled slightly when he saw a Blizzardskull, not the one he was looking for, but spilt blood of their tribe would do, no matter whom it was. He moved in for the kill and spied the weak points on the armor.

Lunging with a roar of the ages, he slammed his flint knife into the back, causing the Blizzardskull to howl in pain. Nero was bashed back an his sworn enemy turned with a look that compared that to the wild beasts. Nero narrowed his gaze and readied his steel knife. His opponent was armed with a spear, but it was made of stone. "Foolish Bearclaw, now I can set my ancestors at peace and have your skull as my own." The Blizzardskull said menacingly and he pulled the flint knife out of his back without a wince of pain. Nero didn't speak, the time for words had long past.

The Blizzardskull charged forward with the spear and knife, allowing Nero to bash it aside and move onto the opposite side. He held the knife sideways, so the one side of the blade touched his arm while the other edge was positioned for prime slashing. He couldn't take the chance with thrusting again, the opponent would take his arm off he tried such a stunt again.

He began to slowly walk around in a circle, his opponent was worlds apart. While his foe charged headlong into battle, little care for strategy. If the animals of the winter wastes could describe them, his opponent was the bear, strong and powerful, but also slow. The spear was a might weapon, but inside the confines of the battle cruiser, it was reduced to a slow weapon. Nero, on the other side, was a wolf. Cunning and patient. The knife was a small weapon, y in almost every fight, it was the fastest and most underestimated weapon. All he needed to do was to wait for his opponent to slip up and he could close in for the kill.

His opponent lunged forward, sweeping the spear under his legs in an attempt to trip him and have him loose his balance. Nero didn't fall for it. He lunged forward at the back exposed to him. Driving the steel knife along side the side of the Blizzardskull. Blood was on the edge of the blade and Nero grinned maniacally, licking the blade, tasting the rich irony liquid. The Blizzard Skull howled and charged at him, slamming the tip of the spear in his side. Nero gritted his teeth and grabbed onto the spear, forcing it not to move. The Blizzardskull tried to but Nero only pulled it closer, drawing the coward closer. Nero slammed the blade though the neck, crimson life fluids showering him, but it didn't matter, his features were already stained a deep red and he pulled the knife out of the Blizzardskull and jammed it through the left eye socket. The scream was music to his ears, and Nero savored each note of his sympathy. Slashing the knife across the face, he pulled the skull from the jaw and the Blizzardskull fell dead.

Nero sucked in the air sharply, breaking the spear, having the wooden shaft as a cork so the blood loss wouldn't be as severe as if it wasn't corked. Running down the corridor he spun around and saw his pray, drawing his massive club up from a brained foe. "You, coward!" Nero bellowed and the Blizzardskull didn't look up from his fallen foe, only antagonizing Nero even more. "You will pay for what you have done to my tribe. I will take that prize of your skull and present it before my ancestors spirits."

The Blizzardskull only laughed. "You speak brave words for a milk drinker. You don't even have your age granted to grow your beard." Nero was slightly insulted. It was true, he had seen only thirteen winters and his foe probably saw three more. He already had a small braid at his chin. "You Bearclaws had grown fat and lax on our ancestral lands. I only wish I could take my land back, but shedding your blood will do as any other." He assumed a defensive position, buckler raised and club raised just above his head. Nero gritted his teeth and nodded. This man was almost like him, except he had a shield and Nero only had an iron knife and flint knife in his hands. Nero walked a few steps forward and the Blizzardskull slammed his club and buckler slammed together, enticing him to strike. Nero grimmanced and bellowed a cry for vengeance.

He slamed his knife against the buckler and the Blizzardskull twisted his buckler, disarming him. Nero grimaced and pressed the flint knife against the forearm of the Blizzardskull. The coward man laughed and slammed club on to Nero's arm, causing it to strain like a half dry twig. Braking away, Nero could the bone bruised and clenched tighter his teeth. He threw himself against the shield, causing the user to buckle back. Nero pushed back and pulled the iron knife out the knife out of the shield.

He stood his ground and waited for the Blizzardskull to come at him. He didn't have to wait long, the Blizzardskull charged bellowing a war cry. Nero ducked down and used himself a small stone and caused the Blizzardskull to trip over him. Nero grinned wildly and raised his knife to finish off his fallen foe.

"ENOUGH!" A massive voice bellowed and stopped Nero from driving his knife down. The world all seemed black around him and soon he knew nothing more.

* * *

I awoke in a bright white room. I tried to move but I could only feel myself being restrained. I thrashed around, bellowing words I couldn't understand. A firm, yet genital arm calmed me down. "Calm yourself, young aspirant. You have had very bad dreams and your wounds are healing." The voice was almost mechanical in origins, but slowly my vision returned. I gazed upon an unhelmeted, dark haired Storm Warrior. He bore pure white armor, snow white. He injected a vial of bluish liquid right next to my side wound, I grimace as the steel punctured my skin. I give a head nod of thanks, and look to the Blizzardskull, who is right next to me. He laughs half heartedly.

"Figures, out of all the beds in this blasted ship, I happen to get the one right next to you." He shot daggers at me, but I laugh it off, my chest retracting in pain. Slamming back into my bead, I gaze up at the steel Aquila riveted to the ceiling. I close my eyes and utter a prayer between the Storm Father and I. I speak prayers passed down through the generations of my tribe, each one displaying its own sorrows and glory. With each verse, I feel a strange fire burning with in my soul. As I continue, the fire burns brighter and I could almost feel the heat on my skin.

Sighing when I finish my prayer, I notice that there are three Storm Warriors walking down with the rows of survivors, each asking for their names and writing down them in a large leather tome. They came to the Blizzardskull and harshly demanded his name. "Erick Blizzardskull." He said with out much defiance in his voice.

The one with the tome, paused for a moment and write the name down in the tome. "Blizzardskull, I remember an Odin Blizzardskull who fought on the fields of Helios. Do you remember him?"

"Yes milord, he was a distant uncle of mine."

"A shame, he was a good man. Thank the Emperor and Primarch he died a death that took his killer with him." The tome bearer said before he walked down to me. "What is your name boy?"

I look right at the helmet of the Warrior. "Nero Bearclaw."

The abruptness caused the helmeted warrior to pause for a second. The pause only lasted a moment and he wrote down my name. He then addressed us all, his helmet blaring loudly, causing many and I to wince in annoyance. "You have all passed the trials and have survived to become Scouts. You must survive, if not, only death awaits you." I sighed and laid my head back on the bed. I closed my eyes and let the dreams take me. Was this what I always wanted? I knew that this was going to be no going back, but then again, I was going to go to place of constant warfare, and I would need to carry my tribe's name with pride.

* * *

**Quick author's note: I know these chapters are small, but rest assured they will be much longer very soon.**


	4. Chapter 4

The pain is all part of the training, I tell myself. Inhaling sharply, I look around the cold Apothacarium. The vents blow winter air on my skin, numbing my skin and my nerves. I look at the mirror, seeing how much I have changed. My skin is slightly more pale, but nowhere as pale as Erick. This has been a hellish past few years, I had lost track of time, but since I was younger the most others, my organ implants had to be spaced out longer then others, but I pushed myself hard as I could. This is my final procedure, the Black Carapace. The black film like organ that would allow me to interface with my blessed armor when I finish my time with the scouts.

A sting of pain come as I remember the operation for my Murcoid. I was informed of the instability of the gene-seed, and organ failure was expected. I was foolish enough to believe that I would be exempt from the rules. When the organ was placed in my body, I felt like the tip of a Horus Match, intense heat flying across all of my body. I screamed out of that and the bone white helm of the Apothecaries knew what was wrong with me. I prayed but blessed unconsciousness would not come, each time the pain intensified even as they tried to remove the organ. Once it was removed, the pain intensified for what seemed like an eternity. The Apothecary said I was lucky, and indeed I knew I was when the pain subsided and they sealed my body with the help of my other organs.

I calm my breathing, looking up to the steel Aquila riveted to the ceiling, the phrase under it read, "Pain is Temporary, Honor is Forever." I breathe a muttered prayer to Corax to help me get through this. The Apothecary, who I had come to know Ralof, came into the room. He didn't wear the traditional white helmet; his head had been augmented after an Ork rocket exploded right next to him. Both of his eyes had been replaced, which were to perform the same as the helmet. They cast an eerie blue glow on the exposed skin on my torso. He pulls a tray over, containing the Black Carapace. "Young Nero, you have been blessed to see this operation. Many were called, and few survived. The operation to insert the blessed Carapace will be short and long. The surgery it self will be short, but it will take several hours for the organ to expand through your body. Ask the Emperor and Corax to see you through this."

The activated his medical brace and injected a vial of a cloudy green liquid. This was to slow down my Larraman cells to allow him to work with his knife and saw without my body protesting in response. He cuts a shallow cut on my thumb, and watches for a minute as the cut scars over. Satisfied, he revs his bone saw and cuts trough my skin and muscle. The cold air hits my warm inner flesh and I mutter a silent curse. Ralof must not have heard me or not risen to the words. He uses his tools and spreaders to push aside my organs and flesh and picks up the small, black organ.

He uses a nerve-selector and attaches nerves to the organ to the rest of my body. The Larraman cells are beginning to rise from their stasis and began to flood over the body. Ralof sealed up my body and I watched before my eyes as my body began to heal itself. Clotting in minutes and scaring in about an hour. I begin to feel slight discomfort in my torso; the Black Carapace was beginning to spread over my body. It is a slight discomfort, but it would have been much greater if I was sill a mere human. Ralof helped me to my feet and held out his hand, which I took. "Your body accepts the nineteenth and perhaps our most important organ, second only to the Gene-seed. You are the thirteenth out of the fifty survivors to reach this. Emperor willing we will have more whom survives. Report to Techmarine Galen, he will craft you a combat knife, your first and most necessary weapon. Remember we are shadows."

"And to shadows we shall return." Ralof released my hand and I walked slowly, bare feet touching the cold platesteel. I exhaled sharply and continued down as the Black Carapace spreaded through my body, and I flinched slightly as the pain knocked up a degree slightly.

* * *

Galen's hand moved across the skull of a fallen Aspirant with great speed. Implanting the necessary thrusting device, he began to attach the auto-quill and ink well. Once he attached the final piece to the skull-servo he placed it next to the others, he eyed the thirty deactivated skull servitors that were to be given to the Aspirants when they reached to the ranks they would be give. He slumped back in his chair, realizing that he had to admit to himself he was board. He had kept up trying to find ways to occupy his time, but after the trials, he had gotten tired of making skull servos, many of them were placed into action across the other ships as silent sentries and others as record-keepers for battle-brothers. He was excited to make a servitor that still had the body partially intact, but alas they were few and far in between.

He breathed in the ritual incense and his ears only picked up the sound of adapts working on forging weapons or cleaning up suits of armor. The Companies had been largely inactive since they were rebuilding their numbers. Fortunately other Scouts and reinforcements from the other chapters were given to them and their gaps were filled partially. Save the odd civil uprising they were called upon to eradicate, they were focusing honing in their next generation of Brothers. All honesty, he missed the thrill of battle, a true battle.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the scuffling of feet not belonging to one of his menials or servitors. He turned his head and saw an Aspirant standing at his door with a knife clenched in his hands. Nero, if he recalled correctly, was the Aspirant's name. "You seem to have survived the final implantation young Aspirant. I take it Ralof sent you to my humble forge to forge you a knife?" The young Aspirant nodded slightly and pushed himself forward, walking with some discomfort.

"Actually, I have a request for you, Techmarine." Nero placed the knife down on the steel table. Galen picked up the knife and examined it. It was crude, but sharpened. Its hilt was tied with some form of leather and it was about a foot in length. He looked for a manufacture's mark, or anyway to tell who would forge a weapon such as this. Alas he found none, only the human skull with a snowflake carved on the forehead. It was a weapon of the Blizzardskull, who lived next to Vulkan's mouth. He knew Nero was a Bearclaw, and from the way he and Erick talked, they were on less then cordial relations. "I was wondering if you could forge me a knife using this iron?"

"I hope you are well aware that this has enough metal to forge a proper Astarte knife." He felt the iron with his bionic hands, feeling the purity of the metal. Unusual for backwards savages, this must have been gathered from the lava it self, all the impurities were burned away. While it was impressive, there needed to be more metal for an Astarte combat knife. They were knives for them, but to mere humans, they were something along the lines of a one-handed sword.

Nero nodded. "I understand and I suspected as much. But is it enough to be a spine at least, revered Techmarine?" Galen smiled slightly under his rust red helmet. This one had manners and respect, clearly knowing his place. He suspected that Nero was going to make a fine officer, Omnissiah willing he survived long enough to see it. Returning his misdirected attention to the knife, he suspected that if melted out properly, this could make an impressive backbone for the knife.

"Any particular form of a knife you wish for me to forge?" The Techmarine asked. He knew a great deal of weapon types and while he would never know all the names and terms for different kinds of knives, Emperor and Primarch only know how many of them there are, he knew the majority of the designs.

"Stiletto, duel edged." Nero responded. Nodding, the Techmarine placed down the knife and moved over to a miniature forge. Lighting a small incense orb, the area around them became chokingly strong with rich ritual herbs, extracts and oils. Murmuring some words in a language Nero would not understand, Galen began to forge the knife. Nero bowed and thanked the Techmarine, who only told him to come back after evening prayers, the knife should be ready then. Nero turned on his heels and walked towards the chapel. He see two servitors, both failed aspirants, those whose minds were snapped like dry kindling when the Librarians examined their minds. They now stood where they were with unblinking eyes, drooling with heavy stubber guns added to their bodies. Nero regarded them; they just stood unblinking, waiting for an enemy that will more then likely never come. Nero's moment sparred for the servitors passed and he cleansed his mind of all unnecessary actions, making it pure and opens to the religious services he was to attend.

The Chapel was lit only by candles on the walls, in which battle-brothers and serfs would light in memory of someone they knew, and offered their prayers to the Emperor and Primarch. Nero approached one of the candles and with a slow burning stick lit one of the partially melted white candles. He closed his eyes and offered up a quick prayer to ask for the safety of his tribe. He finished his prayer and looked around for any other Aspirants, he found none. He wanted to seize this moment and have a private talk with the Chaplin, Nile.

He walked towards the center of the room and saw the black armored Chaplain, without his traditional skull helmet. In its steed was a silver cowl, obscuring his face. Like all good chaplains, he was a hard man to read. Nero knelt on one knee before him before both of them turned and knelt before the image of the Emperor with Corax at his right side. Once they rose, Nile wasted no time to speak. "I have heard that your final implants were a success, the Emperor smiles upon us with good favor. You are the thirteenth Aspirant of this recruitment to pass the tests, and hopefully you will not be the last. But now that you have all of our blessed organs within your flesh, it is time for your training to be stepped up." He spoke in a cool, yet commanding voice. Nero nodded but the Chaplain must have sensed his doubts under his skin. "You are not calm in spirit, you feel doubts."

Inside his head, Nero swore colorfully. He was a fool to mistake the Chaplain for a simpleton. Underneath that hood were two all seeing eyes that could pierce the very soul of the seen. Nero saw no other way out of this conundrum then to talk. "You are right to say that I feel doubt, after all, I am still not a full-fledged battle-brother. I still feel… tied down to my tribe. I still pray over them and a cold flame burns in me for my failures at the trials."

Nile cocked an eyebrow under the hood. "The target you were stopped from killing was a sworn enemy of your tribe? Yet you feel doubt that if you hold onto your past you will fail to become a Space Marine. Nero, the road we trod is unimaginable, even the wildest of a mortal man's nightmare would compare to what we must burden. You are no longer a tribal hunter/warrior, you are a Knight of Corax. The bonds of brotherhood are forged even with our mortal enemies in our past lives. It is difficult, even after years of training and preparation, I myself must confess I was in your position once. You now stand at a fork, will you pursue the agenda of your past and have it darken your future, or will you bury the past while readying your all for the next day?"

Nero nodded thoughtfully. The Chaplain spoke the truth, but it still didn't extinguish the cold flame of hatred in the bottom of his stomach. This was going to take more then a few words of encouragement to overcome. Nero sighed, "While your words hold truth most honorable Chaplain, but I still feel the doubt gnaw on my soul. It will take more then exterior help. This is something I must handle on my own."

Nile nodded, "You feel that way, but it will have to be decided before long. Your evening prayers will have to be delayed I am afraid. I have received word that you are to report to Scout Sergeant Davian Thaddeus for your instructing of the scout squad. Remember, victory or death, our motto as well as our forefathers." Nero made the sign of the Aquila and the Chaplain returned the gesture. Nero bowed before the image again before he turned to walk out the door of the chapel.

The walk towards the firing range, which was were they was to more then likely find Scout Sergeant Davian. The sound of bolter fire greeted his ears and as he turned to corner, he saw Davian with his bolt pistol firing off a clip, each one of the bolts hitting a kill zone on the target. Eight times his pistol spoke, each time the bolt struck a target in a kill place. After the eighth bang. Davian turned to see Nero leaning up against the wall, oblivious that his teacher was looking at him. "At attention Initiate!" Davian barked, brining Nero out of his haze. Snapping his head towards Davian, the Scout sergeant was not amused. "You may be a Scout, but let us make one thing clear Initiate. I will teach, you will learn, one way or another. The time for classroom teachings are over." Realizing his anger was getting the better of him, Davian calmed himself down with a few deep breaths.

"I see potential in you Nero, but you must first understand where you are and whom you are. There will be no second chances on the field of battle." He gestured to a combat shotgun laying down on the table next to where he was standing. Nero picked up the shotgun, Raven Pattern, holding eighteen shells, scatter shot. Davian gestured for the target down the range. Nero pulled the trigger and sent a shell full of pellets down range and parts of the ballistic gel dummy went in completely different directions. Chambering a new shell, he did this seventeen more times on moving targets in a short amount of time. Davian nodded his head. "You may perform well on the range, but the fields of battle will prove much different." He smiled inward, time for the next test.

He walked over to a picot-gram, displaying a planet that they were near. Kailen, a hive world locked with ork looters scrambling all around the weapon stores of the noble houses. Davian touched on the planet and it brought up a lower city of the central clustered hives. "Suppose the local PDF's found Ork movements towards one of the storehouses that was known to hold powerful heavy weaponry, possibly even a tank. What would you do to make sure the Orks wouldn't get their greened hands on the wares?"

Nero paused for a moment and tried to recall all of the strategies employed by several Chapter heroes from the Knights of Corax or another chapter. "I would send Scouts forward to where they were reported from. If the PDF reports were correct, I would have the scouts inform the storage warehouse, where a Devastator and Tactical squad were to be held out at. The scouts would then harass the Orks as they pulled back. If the reports are inaccurate, I would have the scouts move across the city, hoping of finding tracks of the green skinned threat. If they find none and the warehouse is under attack, I would call the scouts back and have they lend fire with their weapons of heavy bolter or sniper fire depending on the loadout given to us."

Davian nodded, "Now assume there is only one scout squad assigned to defend that, all are given bolters, save three, one whom carries a sniper rifle and the others have shotguns. The Orks arrive en mass from the south, but a lone armored tank comes from the south. How would you be able to hold that position?" This was a true test for Nero who spent what small free time he had browsing through the Librarium, brushing up on combat maneuvers and the Codex Astarte. However, this forced him to truly think. He watched as Nero opened his mouth to speak and became silent again over and over. After ten minutes, he shrugged his shoulders. "Your problem is that you think too much on what has been recorded by the annals of history. However, you forget that we are specialists in deceit. The ones with the bolter will be placed on high ground to allow suppression fire on the Ork Boyz, while the sniper can disable the dank, allowing the shotgunners to dispatch the tank crew. Once the tank is neutralized, the adding chaos from the sniper fire and the walls of pellets from the shotguns will send the rabble into that."

Nero realized his mistake and shook his head. Davian placed a hand on the shoulder. "You did better then any other Initiate from this recruitment to think tactically. However, remember that all we need to win a battle is one battle-brother at the right place and at the right time." Nero nodded and Davian dismissed him. Nero did a light jog back to the chapel, where he found an empty pew and bowed his head upon sitting. He clenched his hands and whispered his prayers as he heard Nile's voice in the background chant the legends of the Primarchs.

* * *

Galen looked at the blade before him, the last edges being fined down with his sharpening tool. This would give the knife an almost permeate sharp edge. The iron he was given had the right amount for a spine, and he used the shattered fragments of combat knives yet to be reforged to give him the remaining metal. Unlike other chapters, the combat knife was forged with the initiate, and is laid to rest with him. Other however request that the knife be passed down to the next one after them, and only legends of the chapter were honored with such a request. Others had their knives shattered and they were melted down and reforged for the next brother.

He picked up the knife and it was exactly what Nero had requested. A stiletto like blade, duel edged, balanced, designed for quick stabs and thrusts, this was a perfect scout's blade. It didn't have the survival teeth others wanted, but then again, he reasoned with himself, those were easily became lodged within their victim and would be dangerous if such an event happened while in battle.

He snapped himself out of the thoughts and placed the knife in the black synthetic sheath. He placed the knife aside and he now wondered what he was going to create next. He had forged twenty more knives, and though they would need to get their edge, it would come at a later time. The bolters were being cleaned, the flamers were being polished, the meltaguns were having their piping checked out, the plasma gun's machine spirits were being appeased and all of the other weapons were being taken care of. The vehicles and heavy armor of the chapter were ready and waiting, but he had spent all of last week making sure they were ready for combat.

The Preserver of Flesh muffled another sigh and picked up a bullet casing and began to make a sniper rifle round. He was hard pressed to find something to occupy his time and to make himself feel useful. Once he finished measuring in the powder, Galen carved a narrow slit into the slug. He repeated this each time on the four major sides. This was to have the bullet split after a certain distance, taking down multiple enemies at once.

Satisfied, he saw Nero come back to him and Galen placed the slug down on the table. He reached over and handed Nero the knife. Nero took the knife and unsheathed it, marveling at the brightly polished steel. "This is more then what I wished for. You have my sincerest thanks, Techmarine Galen." Galen nodded and returned to making specialist ammunition, finding something to do at long last.

Nero turned and left, feeling the knife in his hands. He walked down corridor after corridor until he reached his cell. He unlocked it with his gene-code and walked into his new home. It was small, but comforting. The steel was a darkened grey and he was given a desk with a chair along with a simple cot. He looked on the desk and saw a skull servitor with an auto-quill and roll of parchment. This must have been another gift from Galen. He saw the page of how to use to the servitor and he nodded.

"Command start action." The servitor veered next to Nero with his quill at the ready. "It has been more then four years since I have risen to this position. In all of my wildest dreams did I never conceive to become a Knight of Corax, an Astarte. While I am only a scout, I pray to the Emperor and Corax that I can live long enough to fulfill my due to humanity. The others are whispering that we will get our first taste of combat as Scouts with in a few days on the planet below. Orks have been striking unusually straight at the warehouses and are taking weapons and armor that belongs to the PDF forces. The said forces are pinned down trying to suppress food riots in the lower cities. While this is not a proper battle, Librarian Seth says it will give us a chance to hone our skills. Rich coming from him, as he spends most of his time locked away in the archives with the three surviving Aspirant psykers. We may be getting a few more Librarians this time.

If the rumors are true and there is indeed a battle to be fought down on the land below, I had best prepare myself. Davian will be leading us, but we have absolutely no idea who our other squad mates will be. I know Erick survived the implants without failure, though his skin is paler then fresh snow. The others I have either not met or not that well.

Still, it matters little, we will fight as one or we will die as one. If these are my last words, Emperor and Primarch willing they are not, let it be known that these are the final testimony of Nero Bearclaw, Scout of the Knights of Corax." Nero paused and let the words sink in. "End program."

The servitor cut the paper off and Nero reviewed what he had just said. Satisfied, he laid the sheet of paper down and lay back on his bed, closing his eyes. A faint smile played across his lips but soon it became still as he entered a deep sleep. His dreams were filled with the images of the battle to come.


	5. Chapter 5

I stepped off the Thunderhawk as it made its touch down on the lower spire of the capital spire. I exhaled in amazement at the sight of the spire cities. I had been down on a hive world once, but that was long ago, and it was a sharp contrast to the open plains I grew on. The other Scouts acted with similar reactions, but Davain got us back down to the ground and we rushed forward, our boots sloshing in the cold mud. I look around to my new brothers around me, those who had survived long enough to reach with me. I have five Brothers around me, excluding Davian. I growl as Erick dashes next to me, a bolter in his hands. I had a feeling that Nile talked to Davian to place Erick with his squad along with me.

The one carrying the other shotgun in the squad is Odin Forgeborn, his black skin stands sharply out against our pale white skin. I recognized the last name, Forgeborn, the tribe that lives within the heart of Vulkan's Mouth, the calm volcano at the tip of the world. I have seen him on the range and he is one of those Seth would call a potential psyker. The gene-seed must have unlocked some psyker powers locked away, but not enough to be accepted into the Librarium. His potential is an enhanced sense of hearing that acts as a second sight for him should he so desire. I have yet to see it in action, but I have heard things from the others.

Then there is one of the other bolter wielders, Haakon Hailspear. He looks like one from the raiding west coast pillagers. His face is adorned with the tattoos designed to scare his prey, and a long beard braided into many rows. I hear his primal grunts as we run through the mud, truly a beast of a man, but his aim is one trait that I am forced to respect.

The final one in the squad is perhaps one that shouldn't have been able to make it here. Tobsin Anvilbeard, neither to particular strong or large, smaller than the others and looked like a fully grown man while the rest of us looked like a proper Astarte should be. I shake my head free of the loose thoughts when Davian raised his fist above his head. We all stopped and formed up next to him.

My enhanced smell detected the greenskins before my eyes did. I gazed around the corner and saw three brutes, boyz were their proper name in their culture. They were burnas, three tanks of oily promethium like smoked and their acidic smelling cigars burned in their lips. Davin growled and unsheathed a blade I have not seen before. I activate a magnetic plate in my chest armor and drew my knife as the shotgun locked itself to my armor while Haakon narrowed his gaze down the bolter. "Tobsin, keep a look out. Haakon make sure there are no others coming on our flanks. The rest draw your knives and pick a target." Erick drew his curved blade, and follows me as I do to Davian. I pick the center one and Davian picks the one on the left while Erick chose the right greenskin. We walk carefully through the mud, being careful not to slosh and give away our position. The greenskins seem perfectly delighted torching the cement hab-blocks all around them, eager to see the hungry flames. I can see Davian smirk from the shadows as he rises next to the doomed greenskined.

He strikes first, driving his sword through the skull of his target, severing the spinal cord cleanly in half. The act is in such sped that the brute has no time to scream before it falls down to the ground dead. Erick raises his knife above his head and brought it down over his head. The curved blade showed that it was a perfect hacking weapon as the neck of the Ork was torn through the blade's edge. I rise behind the ork in front of me. I use my free hand to cover its large mouth and plunged my knife into the heart. I feel the knife punctured the hard skin and muscle before it ruptured the ork heart. The muffled grunt of pain expelled itself from the ork's mouth before it slumped down. I withdrew my knife, the thick almost tacky blood coating the sliver steel blade.

Davian nodded, "Well done, but you have yet to learn the art of war." He rolled the ork body down unto the cold mud, and we did the same. The other two came up behind us and kept their eyes peeled. "Nero, use these ork burners to set these orks ablaze. We cannot allow these bodies to remain as they are."

Though I was taken aback by the order, I picked up the crude flamer and set the bodies alight. The funeral pyre smell wafted to our nostrils and we all curled our mouths in distaste to the acidic smell. I moved over to the second one and set it alight after the fuel source was removed. When I reached the last one, I noticed Tobsin yanking out one of the fangs from the mouth, a trophy of some sort. I consider raising my voice in objection but my tongue wisely remains silent.

Once the final carcass is burning, I toss the empty fuel container aside and take to shotgun off my chest plate. Regrouping with the rest of the squad, I crouch down and look to where they are. "Emperor's blood… look at them." Odin whispers under his breath, and I merely nod in agreement. In front of us is more than a few Orks, it is a mere cell of a much larger Ork WHAAAGH! The nobles of the planet said that it was only a few small bands of xeno malcontent, but they refused to fully acknowledged the problem. Almost two hundred Boyz, all grunting and drooling down their brutish mouths stand ready to make war.

Davain pulls out a pair of his monoculars and passes them off to Haakon before he gestures to the banners. "Take a good look at these banners, Scouts. Like ours, they tell whom they belong to." When the monoculars came my way, I looked down and gazed upon a crudely made banner. It had a circular head with stitches over the lips but with twin bloodied axes behind it. This Orkish Warband must have some fetish for taking the skulls of the fallen. "I only encountered these Orks once in the Deathwatch. If my memory serves me well, these orks belong to the SkullKlaimers." I nodded and passed the monoculars back to Davian, who reattached them to his belt. "They are formidable opponents when pressed toe to toe, preferring to get up close for a chance to take your severed skull. But that does not mean they forsaken range warfare, and their technological level is nothing I have seen in the hands of Orks."

I murmur a curse under my breath and Davian reaches for his vox unit. I scan around us, wondering where these Orks were coming from. I hear some rustling in the garbage containment unit which catches the attention of myself and Erick. He levels his bolter while I move next to the container. When I get close, I look closer and see a pair of baleful red eyes looking right at me. "Gottcha humie."

With the strength of a bear, the Ork Kommando leaps out and slams me against the wall. My finger pulls the trigger on the shotgun, but the shot goes wild. I swear quietly, breaking Davian's absolute orders of silence. I expected it to hit the hab-block, but instead the solid wall of metal slams into another "cunning" Ork. The wail alerts the others of what's going on, but it also gives away our position. Davian spins around, bolt pistol in his hand. Pulling the trigger twice, he sends two bolts detonating at the skull of another Ork while the other slammed into the chest of the Ork I wounded.

Erick fires off a three bolt burst at the Ork tackling me, but the Ork is to quick and only one strikes home and sends three fingers from the left hand exploding into a fine red mist. I slam the side of my shotgun against the skull of the ork, causing teeth and jaw to be audibly heard snapping. It produced a knife from under its greasy skin and tries to slam it through my neck. Using my free hand, I block his wild haymaker and catch his arm. I force all my strength against him, keeping him immobilized while Erick lines up the next shot.

The loud bang of a bolt being expended rings all around and the right side of the Kommando explodes into a shower of bone fragments and gore. The body falls before my feet, and I stand there for a moment which seems like an eternity gathering my thoughts before I expel a spent shell from my shotgun. I expect a chastising from the scout sergeant for braking his strict orders. However, Davian begins to break into a jog through the shadows and we follow in suit as the deafening roar of two hundred orks swarm after us.

* * *

Davian grimaced at the situation as he pulled himself up the cement hab-lock, his Scouts not far behind. He chastised himself for neglecting to notice the possibility of Ork Kommandos, however rare they were. He had only faced them twice during his service in the Long Vigil in the Deathwatch, and they were with Orks who had lived and bread on the planet for several generations. He knew the Initiate Nero blew their cover, unintentionally he hoped, when Nero fired off a blast from his shotgun. Erick did as well, but it was out to claim a kill from Nero, not in defense of a battle brother. He would have to figure out how to best teach them the lessons they both sorely deserved.

He gripped the arm of Haakon and pulled him to the top, grunting while performing the act while the others used their grappling tools. Once they reached the top they laid flat on their chests, listening as the Orks bumbled on pass. He noticed Nero had several deep gashes in his skin, but his modified blood cells had already began to clot and have long stopped bleeding.

After a few moments, the Orks were passed and the sound of PDF lasgun fire filled the air. Many of the initiates let loose the breath they were holding and rose from their positions. Many of them casted glowering glares at Nero, but the gaze Davian casted upon them promptly stopped them. Activating his vox, he reached the Chapter's ships. "Raven-one this is Davian. Wishing to make a report." There was silence for a little bit before he was given the clear signal. "Orkish incursions are out of proportion, this is a full-fledged ork uprising. Requesting emergency extraction from these coordinates from Thunderhawk Talon Alpha. We will hold this position until we can extract."

There was silence before captain Ares picked up the comm. "Affirmative sergeant, I will come for your extraction personally. It is time that we inform this… group of nobles of the small ork problem facing their stainless planet." Ares' voice was dripping with malice, sarcasm, and annoyance, something Davian only saw when Ares was about ready to throttle something. Davian lowed his hand from his earpiece and directed positions for the scouts. Erick could secure the north, allowing Nero so secure the west side, while Haakon would take the south, Tobsin would handle the east. Nero climbed the small metal water tower on the top of the building which would allow him a three hundred and sixty degree view of the killing field.

Davian fell down on one knee and opened his magazine. He observed the solid slug rounds left in the clip. Ten rounds per clip against almost two hundred greenskins. His mind drifted to a small leather drawstring bag at his side, he had always saved such a round for an occasion like this. He reached into the said bag and produced a round, it was unlike any of the other rounds in the clip. It was inextricably engraved with runes of warding on it's gleaming silver jacket. He removed the first ulled from his clip and loaded in the specialist round. He then slammed the refreshed clip home and chambered the round. He looked down the scope and saw the Orks coming back, their numbered reduced slightly, but they had many more skulls all around them, adorning their belts, sashes, as well as other members of their clothing.

Davian checked the range finder on his scope, two hundred and fifty meters, well within the range of his rifle. He then scanned the group, looking for the right ork to shoot. Not because of standing within the ork structure, rather the right placement was the Ork that would receive this round. He spotted his target; a typical Boy with three bloodied skulls hanging by what remained of their hair around his belt with an equally bloodied axe. Davian calmed his breathing down and remembered that his rifled was zeroed in. His breathing slowed considerably and aligning the shot with his hearts beat, he pulled the trigger.

The silencer muffled the majority of the bang, but that was not what the Orks had to worry about. The Eldar tech built into the round exploded when it hit the Ork, killing the one Boy out right, but the second it detected more than twenty warm bodies in an area, the Monoball exploded. A cloud of steel exploded outside the round and the micro fragments whizzed around, reducing many of them to ribbons of shredded meat. Davian expelled the round and chambered the next. "Initiates, open fire."

Words spoken, the Scouts open fired on the disarrayed orks, bolts striking lesser orks dead and sold slugs from shotguns blasted Nobz' limbs from their bodies. Davian fired off again and again, racking the bolt after each kill. The Orks began to gather themselves and began to fire back. The low-velocity shootas were inaccurate and too far out of optimal range to get a precise shot off. Once the Orks managed to figure out where the shots were coming from, they moved in for the kill.

Davian grimaced and slammed a fresh clip home for his rifle and fired off a few more slugs before he swore at what he saw. Seven ork with crude rockets strapped to their backs flew over the others and soon slammed unto the rooftop along with them. Davian slung the rifle over his shoulder and unsheathed Edge of Shadows. He lept the twelve feet onto the nearest ork, blade raised above his head. He didn't need to worry about landing a precise hit, at this momentum. Gravity would do its own work. The blade sang true towards the ork and within a matter of moments, the orks was split from left to right. Davian withdrew his blade and noticed something about the blood, it was far darker then the blood of other orks, almost tacky as well.

He shook his head free of such thoughts and turned his attention to the next ork, whom Haakon was engaging in a bloody melee. The two traded blows for what seemed like minutes until Haakon rammed his shoulder into the gut of the ork and pressed the barrel of his bolt pistol into the mouth of the Ork, pulling the trigger. The head exploded like an overripe fruit, the same dark and tacky blood showered him. Davian engaged the ork next to him, barely dodging an incoming chain axe blow. He activated the power field on the sword and struck at the axe. The powered blade shattered the axe head and threw the Ork off balance, giving the opening Davian needed. He thrusted with his blade forward, severing the third and fourth vertebra. It was guaranteed kill zone, his teacher had taught him it as did his teacher before him. The Ork composed for a second before falling down on the scout, who merely pushed the carcass aside.

Davian pulled his blade back into a defensive stance, only to see that the Rocket Boyz were finished, many of them cut down by the edge of the knife. Tobsin had one at his feet, while Nero had no fewer than three laying down dead. Erick bashed the last one's skull in with the butt of his bolter, while Haarkon tried his best to fend off the rest of the ork's beneath them with the last of his shells. "Blood of the Primarch, where is our extraction?!" Tobsin swore audibly, emptying his bolter clip into the seething ork horde beneath them. His outburst earned him a swift cuff over the head by Davian, leaving the small one to massage his wound.

A few minutes later and the Thunderhawk Talon Alpha screamed overhead, it's twin linked heavy bolters making fast work of the remaining orks. Captain Ares stood on the deployed ramp and lent his own suppressive fire from the end of his heavy bolter. What would have caused for a normal man to loose balance in such an act, the magnetized soles of the armor kept him ever steady.

Eventually the Orks dispersed and the Thunderhawk hovered next to the hab-block. A series of leaps later and all of the scouts were over and inside the belly of the Astarte vessel. Ares nodded to the brother-pilot, who sealed the ramp and drove the ship towards the top of the capital spire. Along the way, Ares gathered the knowledge of the Orks from Davain and the scouts. Each word increased the frown lines on his face and within a matter of moments the grimace on his face seemed as if it was going to stay there forever.

Nero looked out one of the viewing slits and saw the capital palace come closer and closer. It stood out against the rest of the city, where other buildings were made of metals and poured rock; this was made of pure white marble. An obvious show of the power and prestige the governor had over the billions of masses. A waste, he thought, both of stone and of the flesh that called it home.

The Thunderhawk whined as it was beginning to land. The landing pad was likewise made of marble, and the blasted black areas of soot announced where the other flyers have landed. Everyone could hear the audible growl emanating from Ares, and Davian prayed to all that is sacred that Ares wouldn't do anything irrational.

The ramp opened like the jaw of a giant metal monster, and Ares along with Davian deployed first, then followed the brothers of Are's retinue, lastly the Initiates exited with a brisk pace to catch with the rest. Several of the palace guards noticed the Astartes coming in the distance and began to fall down on their knees, saying words of praise. The beaked helmeted Marine's reactions were unknown of, but Davian along with Ares had polar opposites, such were that like their attitudes. Daivian gave them a curt nod, nothing more. Ares neglected to even acknowledge their presence. "I do not care if the Twelve High Lords of Terra themselves were here, I will not pander them."

Davian gave a grunted laugh, "As you say then captain. But remember, we have little to no power over the Lords of this planet, just as they do to us." Ares saved his breath from shooting back a retort, he knew that he would have to save it for the Governor of this planet.

Ares approached two very large, as well as ornate, brass doors. Gritting his teeth he pressed a hand on each of them. The doors resisted at first, but the hinges responded with an ear racking creek. Continuing his stride, Ares pushed the doors wide open, the warmed air pierced his skin. The smell of incense and plant smoke was rich in the air, almost suffocating in degree. A well-dressed elderly man, the secretary for the governor sat behind a wooden desk, signing many-a data slate with his thumb print.

The bureaucrat looked up from his desk and by Corax's mercy, did he keep a calm head. "I… my lords" He offered with a humble bow, which was a great gift considering his age. "My name is Wallace Sean, Lord-Governor Haman's High Administrator."

"And I am Shadow Captain Ares." The tone was grated and rough. But it was gentler then many other's had expected. "I will see this Governor immediately. If he wishes to have his planet out of Ork hands, I highly suggest you inform him of my presence."

Wallace shook his head this one tended to get what he wanted. And Orks; he was assured by the generals of the Planetary Defense Forces that this was only a small cell of malcontent, nothing that could be ground under the treads of their tanks. The governor also explicitly demanded that no one see him today. "I apologize, milords, but the Lord-Govenor has made it clear that none may see him today, not even myself. I can pass on your requests, but I am afraid my hands are tied."

"Very well then." One of the Tactical Sergeants, Valerian, disengaged his helmet. The rare, to them at least, Mark VII Aquila helmet was in one of his hands. "We shall wait then." With a flick of his wrist, he gently tossed the helmet onto the desk. It landed with a massive thud and the creak of the imported wood became very audible. The Veteran-Sergent gazed down on the Administrator with a death-glare, but Wallace returned his own.

"Knights of Corax, I would help you if I could, but my hands are bound with enough red tape to keep a strike cruiser tied to land." He sighed heavily and then lit up. "While I may not be able to allow you access to the Governor, I may be of an assistance in another way."

He rummaged through the desk and began to swear softly as he tried to figure out where ever he had placed what he was looking for. He then breathed out a sigh of relief and produced a small box like device. It was engraved with the Imperial Aquila with several speakers laced around its edges. "This was given to me by Fabricator Hussan many years ago for services rendered to the priesthood of Mars. It's an clandestine vox, capable of penetrating all but the highest protected vox channels with the best communication rites." He handed the box, which seemed puny in the massive mechanical hand of Ares. "You can use this to get access towards the PDF vox communications; from there you can perhaps coordinate your attacks on the xenos."

Ares nodded and attached the device upon his belt. "Very well then. Valerian, retrieve your helmet, we are moving out. Davian, get your scouts prepared, I believe it is time for them to pass the rites of the night wind." Davian nodded and ordered his scouts to form up on him. As they left, Wallace crashed into his chair and looked at the data-slate before him. He pressed his thumb and the machine accepted his print. An ornate I formed on the face and Wallace knew, that if it took a Space Marine to become concerned with against Orks, then they were going to need the Deathwatch.

* * *

"An Ork had you then?" Ralof asked as he ran his auto-needle through my open wounds which have not fully scarred over. I nodded and rubbed my eyes to ease the annoyance of the bright lights. I sit naked save my loose bone white robe, my armor taken by orders of Davian to examine the strange Ork blood. As a former member of the Deathwatch, he refuses to talk about his time, but his knowledge against the alien is valuable. Ralof also bears the brand of the Watch upon his forehead in between his eyebrows. He is more open, but tells me only the barest details, his oath of silence binding his tongue.

"What was it like?" I ask, causing a throated hmmm from him, but he doesn't look up from his task. "Serving in the Deathwatch, the Chamber Militant of the Ordo Xenos?" He ties off my injuries and uses a scalpel to cut the surgical thread. He holds out his hands and a servitor cleanses his hands of my life fluid.

"You ask many questions, youngling. Many see that as a weakness, but others see it as a sight of strength." He sighs, as if he was recalling those days long ago. "For three decades, I bore the black armor and the silver arm. Each and every one of those days were spent training with the other members of my kill team. I saw many monstrosities that would drive those like you or perhaps greater to near madness. Orks, Eldar, and other lesser known ones met our wrath with unyielding sword arms. It was long ago… but it was worth it. Perhaps when you are ready Nero," He says as he helped me up to my feet, "I will tell you of what the feeling was like to bear the sigil of the Inquisition."

"Thank you Apothecary. May you judgments be passed by the shadows your foes fear." I offer with the Aquila. Ralof returns the Aquila and I walk out of the medical wing. Davian told me to make my way to the Hangers when I was healed. I walked down the cold plasteel walk ways, passing many serfs and servitors. Many of them tried to avoid my glance; only the servitors unintentionally met my gaze as they walked dazed towards their destinations.

A few battle brothers passed me, and it was still slightly uneasy to be in their gaze. While physically I was an Astarte, I was still only a scout. I prayed that soon I would join the ranks of the Devastators, my first step on the specialists. To weild a bolter in power armor as a battle brother at long last. Perhaps I may be given the honor of taking to arms a blessed heavy bolter, the lethal plasma cannon, the destructive missile launcher or even the powerful lascannon. Then, if long range was not the are the Emperor demanded of my, I would join the Assault Squads. With a jump pack to descend upon my enemies with wings of fire, a chainsword in one hand, and a bolt pistol in the other. To leap head long into a battle, hitting the enemy hard and fast, then to retreat before they could gather what happened. Or Corax would give me the blessing of serving with the Tactical squads, the backbone of the Chapter. Proficient in all of these, yet a master of none, as flexible as the waters, they would be able to bring death from close, long, or medium range.

My thoughts come to an abrupt halt as I entered the hangers. I had been in here many times, but I never really had a good chance to look all around. Land Raiders stood tall, battle scars all over, young and old, adorning their frames. Predators with their massive guns aiming at foes to be met. The rich smell of incense wafted through the air, and my gaze fell upon Galen, murmuring the final lines of some prayer to the Omnissiah. He stood next to a combat bike, painted the black of the Chapter and the side car was armed with a gleaming silver heavy bolter. "Ah, Nero you came just in time. I received orders from Captain Ares and approval from Davian for your new status." I cock an eyebrow and Galen continued. "Davain believes that you possess an eager fire in your soul that endangers the rest of the squad. He also believes you need to overcome some petty squabble with another brother."

I am about to raise some objection but I catch my tongue before it leaves my mouth. He was right, but I am not at complete blame for this dishonor. Rather than to voice my objections, I should embrace this chance to redeem myself. "And what is my punishment for such actions, Brother Galen."

Galen nodded his helmeted head. "This attack bike is your new squad along with your gunner. You will be sent down to the planet and will receive no direct aid from us until you have reconciled with your enemy. To strike fast and to escape against the Ork uprising is a just punishment, you will learn many things." Automatic doors opened behind me and Galen chuckled. "It would appear that your gunner has arrived."

I turn around and growl under my breath. Standing in a robe like mine, Erick Blizzardskull stands with a confused look and Galen begins to speak again, explaining to Erick what is to pass. I don't hear those words, my hearing drowned out by the outrage against him. But to whom, I cannot tell for certain.

One thing is certain however; these next few days would be as difficult to test the patience of Corax himself.

* * *

"You disregarded my orders again, Davian. You have the will to that would test the patience of Primarchs!" Ares bellowed quietly as the two walked down one of the many halls.

"Regarding Nero and Erick? Forgive me, but I felt that certain steps were to be taken. If we merely chastised them, it would accomplish very little. If we forced them to work together, they could reconcile their differences. Place them on an attack bike, then they will have to protect one another, additionally it would give us a forward eyes and ears in this campaign." Davian explained calmly.

Ares muttered something under his breath, "It would not kill you to tell me before hand."

"I will keep that in mind." Davian replied with a faint smile before he ducked into his quarters.

* * *

**Sorry for the wait on this chapter, life caught up with me. I'll try to get the next one out soon.**


End file.
